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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26217595">We beat the odds together.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst'>winter_angst</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cannibalism, Curtain Fic, Domestic Fluff, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:34:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,612</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26217595</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another morning at Jack's.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We beat the odds together.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts">Kalika999 (kalika_999)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Kali who always lets me ramble about this AU to her.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waking up alone wasn’t unusual. Jack was a creature of habit, whether Brock was there or not. He had his own schedule and the fact he allowed Brock into it made him feel special. Brock knew exactly where to find him and, tugging down the hem off Jack’s tee, he headed for him. Jack was exactly where Brock had expected him to be but on the counter was a big gray tote that Brock recognized. It was jokingly referred to as the Spare Parts, a tub where Jack stored the occasional brain (“it’s for brining, Brock. You keep saying you want a leather jacket…”), bones and organs that he only ever prepared for special occasions. The warm smell of homemade bread hit him, as did something richer, meatier, and his eyes quickly found a loaf of freshly baked bread, resting on a cooling rack by the oven. </p><p>“Good morning.” </p><p>Jack always looked good, so put together with a crisp shirt and slacks, so very neat while Brock had bed head and was wearing an oversized tee. His hobbies aside Jack was an incredibly normal guy. Maybe too normal, if you really looked at him. But Brock was special, Brock got to see his world. Jack passed him a cup of coffee -- french pressed, of course. </p><p>“Thanks,” Brock said.</p><p>“We have a busy day.” Jack announced. “I hope you won’t mind lending me your hand.” </p><p>“As long as you promise not to eat it, I’m game.” Brock nodded towards the bread and said, “I get some of that, right?” </p><p>“You do. It’s bone day.” Brock snorted and Jack looked confused. “Why is that funny?”</p><p>“Bone day. Don’t you -- never mind. Bone day, okay. That means, what, we go bury bones so no one finds them?” </p><p>Jack frowned. “That would be a shameful waste. We will make bone marrow butter, and bone broth.” </p><p>Brock’s nose crinkled. “Bone marrow butter?”</p><p>“Yes. I thought we’d have some marrow on toast for breakfast.” </p><p>Brock was wary which was funny considering how he regularly consumed human meat. But…eating the marrow of their bones felt...psychotic. Which again, was laughable considering he had helped carve and butcher a body just last night. Brock watched quietly as Jack took the hilt of his knife, long slender digits caressing with the same tenderness he touched Brock with. His fingers wrapped around it and he pulled it from the magnetic strip. Jack took time to relish the weight of it against his palm. </p><p>The show was naught because he set it beside a maple hardwood cutting board, turning his back to Brock grabbing a dishcloth to protect his hand as he pulled out a baking sheet. </p><p>At one time seeing human body parts made Brock’s breath catch. But now he was well versed enough to know it was two femurs cut into sections. That explained the meaty scent in the air. Brock leaned over the counter. “Marrow?”</p><p>“Marrow,” Jack confirmed. “Grab a bowl.”</p><p>Brock grabbed one and side eyed Jack who had produced a spoon from god only knows where and was scooping up the substance. Brock set down the bowl and quickly scurried to safety on the opposite side of the counter, up onto a barstool. </p><p>“Not so fast,” Jack was already scooping out the oily looking globs. Brock began to wonder if this would be line for him, food wise. The moment where he put his hand up and said ‘enough is enough’. “Get the pan out of the broiler please.”</p><p>Brock opted for an actual oven glove as he opened the oven door. He was met with little orange discs. “What is this?”</p><p>He set the pan down carefully. “Those are cured egg yolks. They go well with the butter we’re making for our bread.”</p><p>We? Brock still wanted nothing to do with eating the goop in the bowl that Jack was now grated cured eggs yolks into. He added it to the food processor along with a mound of butter, garlic, spices and freshly chopped scallions and chives. Soon the pulsing of their processor filled the room and Jack smiled, all teeth, and Brock did his best not to flee like a toddler who didn’t want to eat something he hadn’t seen before. </p><p>It came to a stop and Jack pivoted to the knives and pulled out the bread knife. At least now Brock was getting some of the bread he’d been eyeing since he woke up. Jack cut generous slices, slices that would mean an extra forty minutes at the gym — hopefully it was worth it. </p><p>Jack settled two slices on each plate and ran a peeled clove of garlic over the soft flesh of the bread, steam still rolling off them. Brock didn’t bother to ask why Jack did the things he did. Mostly because Jack’s answers were too vague to make odds or ends of it. But as he began to slather the toast, Brock’s stomach clenched up. </p><p>He wasn’t quite queasy? The feeling he had was nameless, a mix of interest and disgust and apprehension all rolled into one big ball of lead sitting his gut. </p><p>“You’re going to like this,” Jack prefaced before setting down the plate. “I want to watch you take your first bite.”</p><p>Brock huffed in an attempt to seem as if he wasn’t bothered but really he was nervous. What if he didn’t like it? Jack had a magical ability to make even the most revolting of things into something Brock drooled over. But this particular thing was…testing his belief in Jack. Jack had put the fresh baked bread into the toaster oven to crisp up it’s fluffy flesh and now it sat before him, the ‘butter’ beige. Brock lifted the first slice, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Bringing to his nose Brock got hints of garlic, parsley, cilantro -- and that underlying meaty smell, gamey and familiar. </p><p>“It won’t bite you.” Jack looked amused and Brock glared at him.</p><p>He took a deep breath, said fuck it, and a took a bite. His teeth cut through the butter, the crisp bread, the bread’s soft middle, and back through the crust. Brock set it down tentatively and began to chew. The butter wasn’t melting on his tongue -- it was dissolving. Rich and fatty it seemed to coat his tongue, a thin sheath of the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten on bread. He was at a loss for words but Jack seemed to know exactly what he was thinking because he smiled. </p><p>“See? No need for the theatrics. I’d never feed you something I think you won’t like.” </p><p>He took a bit of his own and hummed in contentment. Brock would have said something witty but he was too busy going in for his second bite, eager for more. This time he savored it a bit more, really enjoying the sweet, fragile nutty taste it had. Jack had been right, of course. He loved it. </p><p>When all that remained of the meal were crumbs, Brock inquired, “Is that what you meant by bone day?”</p><p>“No. We’re making more butter, and bone broth.” </p><p>Brock’s interest was piqued. “Okay.”</p><p>It wasn’t as simple as Brock had expected. Certain bones needed to be used for each recipe but Jack was patient. Flat bones, he told Brock. Shoulder blades, hip bones, and humerus were Jack’s prime choice to be cut open and submerged in cold salty water to draw out the blood where they’d remain until tomorrow. Brock would be back to work but Jack made his own schedule which was really a must considering his hobbies. Brock slipped the big bowl into the fridge and turned around for his next task. Jack was there and wrapped his hands around Brock’s jaw, pulling him close for a kiss. It tasted of marrow butter and far too expensive coffee. Brock melted into him, cock hardening immediately. There was no logic to the power Jack held over him, power that Brock had so willingly given him. He saw a future with Jack, he ached for forever. </p><p>Jack pulled away and pulled Brock in for a hug. Brock knew there wouldn’t be any sex this morning, not when Jack had a plan in mind. But maybe, when they finished, they could have some fun. </p><p>“Have you had bone broth?”</p><p>Brock bobbed his head. Whenever he was sick his Nonna insisted he drink it to get better and he always did. “Yup.”</p><p>“Good, this will be familiar to you.” </p><p>Jack placed a large pot on the stove top and roughly chopped up two onions, a bunch of carrots, celery and then he tossed in some bay leaves, salt flakes and pink peppercorns. Then he poured in apple cider vinegar and tossed in the bones. After the pot was filled just over them Jack set them aside. It seemed too simple.  </p><p>“They’ll simmer for forty eight hours,” Jack said when he saw the questioning expression on Brock’s face. </p><p>“That’s a long time.” </p><p>“It takes time to break down bone. I’ll make gelatin tomorrow.” </p><p>Brock rose a brow. “Gelatin? It’s made out of -- ”</p><p>Jack inclined his head. Brock probably would have been grossed out but Jack’s jello shots weren’t otherworldly. “You don’t need my help?” Brock tried.</p><p>“You have helped me plenty.” Jack wrapped his arms around him. “I’m glad I found you.” </p><p>“I’m glad you found me too. I’m lucky you did.” </p><p>“At first I thought that you were cute enough to eat but… Thankfully, I saw reason.” </p><p>Brock laughed. “You’re kidding right?” </p><p>“Maybe.” </p><p>“I love you Jack.”</p><p>“And I love you, Brock.” </p><p>“Can I have some butter to bring home?”</p><p>“Of course you can.”</p>
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